


Deeper

by ectochoir



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi is a powerbottom, Closet Sex, Gunshot Wounds, Improvised Medical Tools, M/M, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26538742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectochoir/pseuds/ectochoir
Summary: Akira gets shot. Akechi does his best. Intimacy and pain make for a strange emotional cocktail.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 8
Kudos: 204





	Deeper

**Author's Note:**

> Akechi stops as he realizes something.
> 
> “Fuck.” He mumbles, sitting back. “I don’t have anything precise enough to pull the bullet out.”
> 
> (I didn’t beta read this, good luck.)

The gunshot fired is nearly deafening in the confined hallway and it leaves Akechi’s ears ringing. He and Akira had ventured into Maruki’s depraved palace once again, this time on their own, and much to his chagrin, the shadows lurking in the fluorescent white hallways had caught them off guard for once. Normally Akira, with his seemingly supernatural eagle eye, would see an enemy like this coming from a mile away, but this one came out of a door they’d previously thought was locked, charging them from behind and effectively surrounding them before they could even begin to respond.

Akechi dodges the shot fired in his direction with grace, knowing one false step while surrounded could potentially spell his doom. He and Akira have both taken a few heavy hits in this fight already, so he knows he needs to stay careful. The shadow that fired it sneers and levels the gun again, only to shriek as Akira flies at it from the side, tearing into it with his dagger, his attack followed up by the persona he summons to his side. Akechi vaguely remembers him calling it “Cu Chulainn” when he’d brought it forth the first time, but this time he simply belts out a wordless cry, clearly operating on instinct alone.

The attack gives Akechi just enough time to get his bearings and summon Loki. His mind races through his options. Multiple enemies, so a Megidolaon would take care of them pretty easily, but he’s low on energy. They’ve been here a while and the fights have certainly taken their toll. If he spends the last of his willpower here, they might not make it safely to the exit again. He opts to Debilitate, to suck the strength clear out of the shadow and leave it trembling with weakness. With a sneer, Akechi lunges forward with his laser sword, cleaving off a clawed arm easily. He does so love the rush of bloodshed and he grins as he watches the shadows dissolve back into, well, shadow. A sense of satisfaction washes over him as he stomps a few of the flakes of darkness with his boot before turning his back on the creature, leaving it to its death throes, impatient to resume fighting. One down, one to go.

As he turns, he sees Akira landing a graceful jump over an attack that came from the remaining enemy, and the shadow growls, swiping at him again and again, trying desperately to hit. Something about that grace and flow in battle is just... a little infuriating, Akechi thinks. He admires it so much, but seeing it used against an enemy, while still knowing how frustrating it is to be on the receiving end of those deft stabs and dodges makes his stomach twist in something akin to envy. He’s not nearly as lithe and smooth, more like a hurricane than a flowing stream.

“Come on, stop toying with it, Joker. We’ve got to keep moving.” He says, taking a step forward. As if drawn in by his voice, the Phantom Thief shifts his gaze to Akechi and nods, before lunging forward and burying his dagger into the shadow’s chest without hesitation. It gurgles and lifts an arm to try and swipe at him, but the limb dissolves before it can bring it down to strike. Akira twists the knife in the wound, and the creature loses its form and falls apart into dust before him.

“That wasn’t too hard.” Akira says, spinning the dagger in his hand once before sheathing it. He smirks and starts toward Akechi, and then stops, suddenly.

The noise that accompanies Akira’s abrupt halt is so close and so loud that it makes Akechi jump, and he whirls around to spot the source. The shadow he killed, or thought he had killed, has one arm stretched out, the gun in its hand shaking with just the effort of lifting it. After a long, tense moment, its arm drops as it finally loses its form and succumbs. Instead of fading with the creature’s body, the gun it clutched instead skitters across the floor, coming to a stop at Akechi’s feet. At the same time, Akira stumbles forward, collapsing with a gasp.

“ _Joker_! Joker, are you okay?!” Akechi ignores the genuine concern edging into his voice as he rushes to kneel at Akira’s side. His head is swimming as he realizes that it wasn’t one of those bullshit attacks shadows tend to use. This one had a real fucking gun? Did Maruki give it that? Did he mean to actually kill them? Akechi’s mind races as he rolls Akira over to inspect him, met with a grunt of pain and protest from the other thief.

Oh god, that’s a lot of blood.

He swallows, steeling himself as he reaches down and presses on the wound. The bullet went right in between his ribs near the edge of his torso, from what he can see. Lucky... as long as it didn’t hit any organs. Akira chokes on his spit at the pressure on the wound, wheezing out a string of expletives and gripping Akechi’s thigh so hard he can feel his skin breaking even through gloves and spandex.

“Fuck.” Akechi mumbles, steadying his breathing as he lifts his steel-clad palms, now coated in blood. Everything is red and slick, the floor, his suit, Akira’s coat... it casts a grisly contrast to the pristine white walls of the facility. Akechi grits his teeth watching Akira squirm in pain, his face contorted and mouth open. He needs to get him to a safer place than this... Adjusting his stance, he reaches out, placing one arm between the crook of Akira’s knees and the other behind his head to lift him in a princess carry. Akira groans, but doesn’t protest, limp in Akechi’s grip. “I’m taking you to a safe room. Don’t move, and stay quiet. I can’t fight with you like this.” Akira blinks up at him and nods, resting his head on Akechi’s shoulder and letting his eyes fall shut.

Akechi makes it about halfway down the hall before he realizes the issue before them.

The nearest safe room is at least a few hallways and rooms behind them, and there are still shadows back there. They might have been able to sneak past them before but with Akira in this state, there’s no way he can stay in the shadows as effectively. Akechi bites his lip as he weighs his options. Getting caught retracing their steps will absolutely spell Akira’s doom, but forging ahead could be dangerous as well, considering he has no idea where the next safe room could be.

He shifts Akira’s weight in his arms and huffs, his head swivelling left, and then right. His gaze lands on a nondescript door labeled “supplies” and he weighs his options for only a split second before briskly walking toward it. Akechi leans in close to the door, pressing his ear to it and listening. It doesn’t have the same cognitive distortion a safe room does, and it’s not nearly as secure, but it’s silent and from what he can tell, empty. It’ll have to do. Carefully, he adjusts Akira in his arms enough to wrap his hand around the doorknob and turn it. The door creaks open easily, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Okay. Come on...” Akechi carries Akira through the door and pushes it shut with his back. He reaches down to lock it, but there’s no lock on the inside, so instead he places Akira down, wincing as he realizes how much blood has soaked into his suit at the close contact. He turns, grabbing a conveniently placed chair and shoving it under the doorknob. It’s not much, but it might help hold something off for a few vital moments if they’re discovered...

“Akechi...” From the floor, Akira grunts as he tries to prop himself up on his elbows, only for his arms to give out. He tries again and Akechi sucks his teeth and crouches next to him, pushing him down firmly with one hand.

“Codenames; this isn’t a safe room. Stop moving, idiot! You’ll make it worse.” He commands, eyeing Akira’s wound. It’s buried under layers of heavy leather, and he groans, knowing he’ll need to expose it better to get the bullet out. He pauses before reaching into the sheath inside Akira’s coat and removing his knife. “Hold still. I’m not trying to cut you, but if you squirm I can’t guarantee I won’t.” Akira nods once and holds still as Akechi lowers the blade to his chest. He’s incredibly collected as the black-clad thief slides the knife under his shirt, doing his best to avoid vulnerable skin as he uses it to slice through the fabric and expose his chest.

Finally, with a lot of delicate work, the shirt is split down the middle and the fabric peels slowly away from bloody skin. Akechi can only wince as he sees the gunshot wound in the open. The skin’s buckled around the small entry wound, angry, and mottled, and bruised purple. There’s so much blood, and he feels even his stomach turn as he investigates. Thankfully, he realizes it doesn’t look like the bullet hit any vital arteries on entry and he allows himself a sigh. That’s a relief...

He turns to look Akira in the face, fixing him with a withering glare.

“Stupid of you to get yourself shot. You should have been paying attention...” he grumbles as he pulls off his mask and unhinges the separate sections of his helmet, laying them on the floor nearby. With his head and neck free, it’s easier to lean in and get a closer look. Akira chuckles through grit teeth.

“Sorry, you’re right.” He groans, turning his head to meet Akechi’s gaze with a forced smile. “Better me than you, though.” His chuckle is cut short as Akechi growls and covers his face with a gauntlet.

“Shut up. It would have been better if you’d been paying attention and neither of us had been fucking shot. Now, I need to get the bullet out... somehow. Shit. Stay there, I’m going to go look for something we can use.” Akechi stands abruptly, stepping over Akira as he moves to the shelves of supplies. As he scans over them, he confirms his suspicions. There’s not much they can make good use of in here. He’ll need to clean the wound, try to sterilize it, but the cleaning solutions are far too harsh. He needs something simple, toned down. It might sting, but if it cleans the wound out properly then he doesn’t really care if Akira has to grit his teeth through the pain.

Better than him bleeding out in a fucking supply closet in Maruki’s god forsaken palace.

As Akechi continues to root through the bottles and jars, finally a familiar, brown bottle catches his eye. Rubbing alcohol. “Not ideal, but it’ll do...” he mumbles as he pulls it down, placing it on the floor.

“Ah, fuck.” He hears the Phantom Thief breathe out as he spots the bottle. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” Akechi can’t help but smirk.

“Hm, I wonder if it’ll hurt more or less than actually being shot?” He muses, grabbing a pair of clean rags off another shelf and bringing them over as he sits next to Akira on his injured side. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.” Akira snorts, wincing as he turns to give Akechi better access to his side. Akechi chuckles, popping the cap off the bottle of alcohol and dousing one of the rags. The other he ties off in the middle, making a decent sized knot.

“I probably am. There’s something enjoyable about finally seeing you laid out and vulnerable. Normally you’re so infallible, unbreakable, et cetera. It’s refreshing to see you be human.” He hesitates for a moment, realizing how genuine that statement was, before clearing his throat hastily and thrusting the knotted rag into Akira’s hands. “We’re not as secure as we would be in a proper safe room. Bite down, or you’ll get us caught.” Akira eyes the rag, and Akechi huffs. “ _Today_ , Joker.”

“Okay, fine...” The leather-clad and profusely bleeding leader of the Phantom Thieves sighs, before opening wide and clamping his jaws down on the rag, teeth sinking hard into the fabric. In another situation, Akechi muses that the sight could possibly be alluring... perhaps arousing even, to tie the ends of that rag tightly together at the back of his head, pin down his wrists, already heavy from exhaustion, and grind down onto him so hard that infuriating smirk dissolves under the pressure...

... but not now. Not with Akira’s life in danger.

“Alright, here we go.” Akechi mutters as he applies another healthy amount of alcohol to the cloth in his hand, for good measure, and finally presses it to Akira’s wound.

It’s like he’s pressed a live wire to the younger thief’s skin. His back arches and he yelps, voice thankfully muffled by the cloth in his mouth. Akechi sucks his teeth and keeps the pressure, despite Akira’s squirming. He can hear the hiss and bubble of the isopropyl in the wound and he winces as Akira’s back arches and he keens into the rag, boots scuffing on the floor as he writhes.

“Fucking damn it, hold still.” Akechi snaps as he pushes Akira’s hips down to the floor with a dull thump, one hand pinning them down and the other still holding the rag in place. Akira’s pupils dilate as he fixes his gaze on Akechi and his breathing is heavy through his nose. After another tense moment, Akechi lifts the cloth from the wound. Not an ideal level of clean, but it’ll do. Akira’s head falls back and he coughs through the rag, causing a fresh trickle of blood to bubble up out of the entry point. Akechi shoots him a short glare before mopping up the blood quickly. Then, he stops as he realizes something.

“Fuck.” He mumbles, sitting back. “I don’t have anything precise enough to pull the bullet out.”

There’s a moment of silence between them as Akira pulls the rag loose from between his jaws and eyes Akechi, and Akechi simply looks down at the wound, and then at his own hands. How could he be so stupid? Of course he’d need a tool of some kind. He couldn’t just go rooting around there with his bare hands...

But then, they aren’t bare, are they?

He hesitates for just a moment, clicking the metal tips of his gauntlet fingers together. They’re sharp, like claws, with a divot at the fingertips to give him good grip when he’s tearing into shadows with them; a divot that could potentially hold a bullet between two fingers if positioned correctly...

“Do you trust me?” Akechi asks suddenly, eyes sharp as they land on Akira’s face. There’s a moment where Akira pauses, then he nods slowly. “Good.” Akechi’s hand comes up to practically shove the rag back into Akira’s mouth, holding it there with one metal-clad palm. “This will hurt. Keep that in.” He says before he reaches down and upends the remainder of the alcohol bottle over his left hand. The liquid seeps in through the cracks in the gauntlet, chilling his skin, but it evaporates quickly and leaves him a little more confident he won’t somehow give Akira some horrible form of Shadow Tetanus. Carefully, he plants his left knee on Akira’s thighs to pin them down, reaching over with his right hand to cover his mouth again, a last ditch attempt to muffle the inevitable noise he’s about to cause.

“Hold still.”

It’s not much of a warning, but Akira’s eyes widen as he realizes what Akechi’s about to do an instant too late. Two metal clawed fingertips pierce the entry wound on his stomach and Akira shrieks into the rag, reaching up to grab at the hand Akechi’s digging into him with before pausing and, thinking better of it, grasping at his right wrist instead. The Phantom Thief’s grip tightens frantically as Akechi grits his teeth and pushes the fingers in a little deeper. He can feel the warmth wrapping around the digits, and blood pools around his entry as he hits the second knuckle and pauses. Experimentally, he wiggles his fingertips, hoping to feel metal on metal, but to his chagrin, there’s nothing.

“I need to go deeper.” Akechi says with a voice so calm it even surprises him. Akira whines and shakes his head, eyes wide and pupils dilated, but it’s pushed back against the floor as Akechi presses down on the rag in his mouth. “Sorry, you don’t really get a say in it. The bullet needs to come out.” He doesn’t hesitate, pushing his two fingers in further. There’s an uncomfortable moment where his brain compares it too closely to pressing his fingers into somewhere  entirely different and his face flushes, so he turns it away from Akira, squealing and writhing on the floor with his eyes nearly rolling back in his head from pain, and instead focuses entirely on the wound.

Right, it’s a wound. It’s not something to get so excited about, especially not like this... but as Akechi slowly, methodically moves his fingers back and forth amid Akira’s insides, he feels traitorous heat gathering in his own stomach. Of course, he diligently dismisses the feeling until he feels something stir against his leg.

Wait.

Holy shit, does Akira have a boner?

Stunned, Akechi stops moving entirely, leaving his fingers sunk to the hilt in Akira’s stomach as he stares down at his crotch. Sure enough, the Phantom Thief’s dick is pushing against the seam of his pants and pressing against Akechi’s leg where he has Akira’s thighs pinned down. He stares, and stares, and only snaps back to reality when Akira  screams at him from behind his hand and a wad of cloth. Shit, right. Bullet. Hand in wound. Bleeding.

“W-Wait, hold on.” Akechi curses himself over the stutter in his voice as he turns his attention back to the matter at hand, that being his hand sunk partway into Akira’s guts, and continues to sweep his fingers about in minute movements, looking for the bullet. He freezes as he feels a click on his fingertips. Metal on metal. There it is. “Akira, I need you to stay completely still.” He foregoes the codename, and Akira takes notice, slowly nodding again and breathing deep through his nose. Akechi watches him ball his hands into fists beside his head and he lets out a slow, steady breath before pushing in just a little bit further.

He can see the way the skin of Akira’s stomach buckles around his fingers, slowly sinking inward as he reaches toward the bullet. The pressure pushes blood to the surface and it’s running freely down Akira’s side to pool on the floor beside them, but Akechi tries to pay no attention to the way it makes the knee of his suit sticky, instead focusing entirely on the task at hand. He’s almost there... There’s a single instant where he’s afraid he’s pushed the bullet too far in to reach, that he’ll have to cut Akira open and pry it out from a different angle, before his claws click again, this time safely around a small bead of metal.

He briefly gets excited and nearly pulls his fingers out in one go, but the choked scream Akira lets out and the way his legs twitch violently when he moves his hand a little too quickly snaps him back to reality. Much more slowly, he works his hand out again, taking care of the metal barbs on his knuckles that, while they slid in easily, keep catching on flesh on their way out.

And then he’s free, the silver metal of his fingers dyed a harsh crimson red and dripping as he pulls them loose from Akira. Clutched between them is the remains of the bullet, which he drops immediately to the floor, releasing his hold on Akira’s face to remove the gauntlet on his left hand and toss it aside. He repeats the motion with his right gauntlet, freeing up his bare hands, before reaching up to his shoulders. Thank god this outfit still has a cape, he thinks as he unclasps it. He’s not about to try tearing up Akira’s coat to make a bandage.

Akira lies still on the floor, his breath coming in shaky gasps as he stares blankly up at Akechi for a few moments. Eventually, he pulls the rag out of his mouth and takes a deep, slow breath.

“You... You were  _in_ me ,”  he mumbles, as if he’s trying to wrap his mind around it. Akechi glances at his face, noting how flushed he is and how he slowly lifts an arm to cover his face.

Hm. Interesting.

“Yes, two fingers right to the base. I assume it must have hurt,” he replies as he carefully uses Akira’s dagger to shred the cape in his hands into a useable set of strips. “I’m surprised you didn’t faint.”

“Mh... it hurt a lot, yeah... but—“ Akira cuts himself off, biting his lip, and Akechi takes a moment to look down at the offending spot on the front of Akira’s pants. The fabric is still tented, completely obvious as he lies on his back on the hard floor.

“Let me guess,” Akechi drawls as he folds a strip of fabric and presses it over the wound, “It was exciting as well.” He’s well practiced with bandaging injuries and it only takes him about a minute to safely wrap the bullet wound under a few layers of his cape. “I can’t deny that I noticed your little... issue.” He takes some twisted glee from the way Akira hunches his shoulder and tries to hide even further under his arm. “Oh, trust me. I think I understand.” Akechi’s voice lowers in tone, his features pulling into a smug grin as he reaches out and palms Akira through his pants. “It’s sort of erotic to know I held your life in my hands... isn’t it?”

“Oh fu—Akechi, shit...” Akira whines as he peeks out at the brunette. “Don’t fucking rile me up now. W-Wait until we find a safe room—!” His breath hitches as Akechi slides his palm across the tent in his pants again, pulling a mischievously innocent expression. He can see the way Akira’s coming undone already and knows he only needs to push a little more. 

“My, my, Joker.” Akechi drawls playfully as he lifts the pressure of his palm and instead drags a fingertip up and down the defined length of Akira’s erection. “Are you trying to tell me something? Is there something you’d like?” He does so love teasing Akira, and in a situation like this, where he’s still riding on the high of saving his life in such a graphic and intimate way, he can’t deny the way his heart thumps against his ribcage as he says the words, “I think I deserve a reward for helping you so generously, don’t you?”

Akira’s pushing himself up onto his elbows in an instant, breathing ragged as he winces at the sudden movement. Despite the pain, he stares at Akechi, his eyes suddenly dark and hungry behind the white mask that still conceals part of his face. Ah, there he goes.

“I guess that’s fair. Besides... I let you into my guts... isn’t it time you let me in yours?” He says, trying to push himself to sit up. His abdomen quivers as he does, though, and the muscles give out from exertion. Akechi smirks in response and his fingers deftly find the fly of Akira’s pants, undoing them and freeing his cock from the restraining fabric.

“Tempting offer. You’re not in much state to do anything to me, though, so I guess I’ll be letting you lie back and relax. Don’t expect me to be so kind in the future, though.” Akechi sighs as he stands to disrobe properly over Akira’s prone form.

“Hah, I doubt you’ll be nice, even now.” Akira replies, a brow quirking above his mask, just barely visible below the fringe of black curls across his forehead. Akechi snorts, dropping his suit to the floor and standing over Akira, fully unclothed.

“You still have the energy to have an attitude?” He says as he crouches over Akira’s lap, straddling his thighs, his own erection just inches away from the black-clad thief’s. “Well, maybe I won’t be so kind, then. I guess I’ve already been nice enough to save your life, after all.” He grins as he presses the tips of his fingers against Akira’s lips, mercifully the hand that  wasn’t just in his stomach. “Go on, I’ll need to prepare.” Akira obliges, lips parting and taking Akechi’s fingers into his mouth. His tongue swirls around them briefly as he tries to do what he can to make them slick enough for Akechi to use. His mouth is hot, and Akechi shudders as he pushes his fingers further in.

“Aa-gkh—!” Akira gags at the unexpected intrusion but after Akechi pulls back for a moment, he flattens his tongue and lets the older teen press his fingers back in, invading the back of his mouth and brushing his soft palate. He makes soft, choked noises as Akechi finger fucks his mouth, fists balling at either side of his head, and when Akechi finally pulls his hand free, a long strand of saliva connects his fingertips to Akira’s parted lips. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are glazed and Akechi snorts as he reaches back to push a single spit-slicked finger into himself.

“You look like such a whore right now.” He croons with a sneer, his breath hitching as he wastes no time in prepping himself, adding a second finger and scissoring them apart with a groan. Akira laughs softly, his voice a little hoarse from all the screaming he’s already done.

“That’s rich coming from you,  Crow .” He responds playfully and Akechi growls, glaring down at him. Akira simply smiles as he watches Akechi prep above him, straddling his thighs with a hand braced on his hip.

“Sh-shut up.” His tone is sharp, and he says it as a warning. He adds a third finger and gasps as he somehow manages to brush his own prostate. Ah, god, he wants Akira now...

“You know I’m not going to listen unless you say plea—mmgh!” Akira’s cheeky retort is cut off as Akechi rolls his eyes, effortlessly stuffing the rag he’d used to muffle screaming earlier back between his jaws, holding it there with his palm.

“I  _said_ shut up.” Akira makes a sound of protest and reaches up to try and pry his hand away, but Akechi’s faster and far less exhausted, and he grabs both Akira’s wrists, pinning them together with one hand and pushing them to the floor beside his head. “Ah, ah. This is my reward. I’ll take it how I please.” Akira glares and snorts through his nose, trying to pry his wrists free, but the exertion has taken its toll and he’s far too weak to break Akechi’s grip. Watching his dark-haired junior try, fail and realize he’s trapped is a delicious sight, and Akechi doesn’t miss the way Akira shudders under him as the realization hits home.

“Alright, enough wasting time. I want you in me,  now .” Akechi growls as he lifts his hand off Akira’s mouth. “You won’t like what happens if you spit that out.” He warns as he reaches down to guide Akira’s weeping cock to his entrance. Akira nods slowly and bites down on the rag again.

It doesn’t do much to muffle his moan as Akechi lets gravity do the brunt of the work and he sinks down onto Akira’s dick slowly. It’s a process, and he loves every moment of it as he slips down over him, inch by inch, until he’s finally bottomed out and his weight is entirely on Akira’s lap. Akechi trembles for a moment, savouring in the fullness, the heat, the way they fit together so well, Akira’s body filling up an emptiness inside him that he hates...

... and then he stops dwelling on his emotional baggage, because he’s got a dick in him, and he’s going to make good use of it.

Keeping Akira’s wrists pinned, Akechi slides his other hand slowly up his chest, to rest on Akira’s throat.

“You’d best do a good job making me feel good,” he growls with a smile, tightening his grip just slightly and feeling Akira swallow under the pressure of his fingers, “or I might have to punish you.” Akira keens below him, chewing on the cloth gag as his hips twitch, begging for the room to thrust. Akechi keeps his weight on them, though, keeping him cruelly pinned to the floor. He laughs as Akira whines again, tugging uselessly at his wrists. “Oh, seeing you like this is almost too much fun.” He croons as he rolls his own hips slowly, undulating his lower body in a way that makes Akira’s head drop and a deep, heavy groan muffle out from behind his gag.

Akechi’s movements are slow and methodical at first, his goal merely to absolutely torment Akira as much as possible. He rolls and grinds torturously slowly, taking great joy in the way Akira’s face twists and his chest heaves as he tries desperately to thrust upward, only for Akechi’s weight to keep him firmly in place.

“Ah, ah. Be a good boy and maybe you can fuck me.” Akechi purrs, his hand closed firmly around Akira’s throat as he continues his cruel toying with the thief beneath him. Akira whimpers, eyes lidded as he stares up at Akechi with an unfocused gaze. He’s so far gone already, Akechi’s almost certain he’ll have to carry him out at this rate, but he can’t resist pushing him just that little bit further.

With a quick, brief motion, he jerks his hips forward, then back, groaning as the movement sends the head of Akira’s cock brushing against his prostate. His vision swims for a second and he gasps, before repeating the motion.

“You wish you were the one making this happen, don’t you?” He hums as he fucks himself eagerly on Akira’s dick, “You want to fuck me, Joker? Is the way I’m using you like a fuck toy making you lose it?” The dirty edge to his voice makes Akira gasp through his nose and Akechi grins, tightening his grip around Akira’s throat enough to feel his pulse in the palm of his hand.

“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” He whispers as he lifts his weight and leans in to lap the tip of his tongue over Akira’s earlobe. He feels him shudder under him, not even noticing the weight restricting him from movement is gone, and he feels so powerful. “I think you’ve been a good boy. Go on, then.”

The instant Akechi releases Akira’s wrists, they snap to his hips like a magnetic force, and he feels red-gloves fingers squeeze his skin so hard he can instantly tell he’s going to bruise. He doesn’t have a moment to complain, though, as Akira’s hips jerk upward, immediately finding the angle to hit Akechi’s prostate, and he lets out a whine, his hands moving to either side of Akira’s head.

“Fuck me, god damn it. Ruin me!” He snarls as he rams down to meet Akira’s thrust. Akechi watches as Akira reaches up to rip the gag from between his teeth, flinging it across the room before reaching up to grab a fistful of caramel hair and yanking Akechi down to his level. The pace he sets is brutal, hard and fast, and as he thrusts up into him, Akira leans up and sinks his teeth into Akechi’s neck, hard. Akechi moans as he feels his body go weak and his arms give out, chest colliding with Akira’s. He’s always been a masochist. He hears Akira cough and sputter as his weight lands on the bullet wound, but even so Akira doesn’t stop moving, using Akechi’s hole and taking out every ounce of frustration left in him.

They both forget very quickly to be quiet.

Akechi moans are feral and loud as he tries to snap his hips down to meet Akira’s thrusts. Akira, with one hand clamped around Akechi’s hip and the other still buried in his hair, pulls him down to match each thrust, pressing as deep into him as he can. He’s groaning and whining into Akechi’s neck, where his teeth are still sunken hard into flesh, bruising already forming around the teeth marks.

It doesn’t take long for each of them to realize their limits as Akira’s pace grows frantic and clumsy and Akechi finds himself falling limp on Akira’s chest, each thrust sending him sliding up, only for the other to pull him back down again as he slams into him again and again. It’s rough and it’s hot and it’s  exactly how Akechi likes it.

Finally, Akechi feels Akira tense up underneath him, his grip tightening as he thrusts once, twice, and then hits his orgasm hard, cumming deep into Akechi. The way his cum seems to load up his insides, leavingthem so hot and full, sends Akechi over the edge as well, spilling his orgasm all over Akira’s chest and stomach, though thankfully missing his injury.

They stay there for a few moments, catching their breath. Akira makes no move to unsheathe himself from Akechi, likely to exhausted to even move, so Akechi takes a slow, deep breath and pushes himself up onto his elbows.

“I’m going to kill you for biting me like that.” He growls, rubbing at his sore neck. Akira chuckles sleepily, his eyelids heavy as he lethargically lets go of Akechi’s hair and his hand falls to the floor.

“You liked it,” he replies with a grin, sighing as Akechi shifts and slowly slides off of him. He seems disappointed at the way the cool air hits him, and Akechi snorts, grabbing the abandoned rag and using it to clean him up before tucking him back into his pants.

“I guess it wasn’t awful.” Akechi moves to pick up his suit, “Stay there, I’ll dress and then carry you out of here.”

“Mm, my hero.” Akira shoots back playfully letting his eyes fall shut, and Akechi groans and throws the now cum-covered rag at his head, laughing as it catches Akira off guard and he yelps as it bounces off his cheek.

“Asshole!”

—

Outside the closet, a few shadows mill about, uncertain of exactly what to do. When informed of the noises coming from inside, their master had looked pained and told them to leave it be. Something about “ _disturbing would be worse now than letting them see it to its conclusion_.”

They don’t understand, but they heed his words, leaving the closet and the pair inside alone, and so when the boys finally manage to gather themselves up and escape from the palace, they celebrate their good luck that not a single shadow had found them out.

Akechi thinks to himself as he hefts Akira’s dozing form out of the Metaverse, he always knew he was incredibly stealthy.

And thank god for that.


End file.
